


Christmas Turkey

by eurodox59



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Magical Vanishing Turkey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8905297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurodox59/pseuds/eurodox59
Summary: This is my submission to the AFFFaOFW FB group. It is a one-shot that might happen in my upcoming mirrorverse.A sample:"I have a tradition, since the end of the war. Every third Friday of December, I go and sit outside. Take some time to look back on my life and remember…"





	

**18 December, 2201**

At the youthful age of 800, I would have to contend that December is the worst of the months, though it has a special meaning for me that it does not have in the eyes of any human.

I have a tradition, since the end of the war. Every third Friday of December, I go and sit outside. Take some time to look back on my life and remember…

There was an incident in 1447, during the clan wars. (I say ‘shortly’, but for many of us “short” is a period which can last up to 50 years.) My unit was sent to capture or render useless an enemy town. It was much smaller than what had been described to us, having seen much suffering during the shadow wars going on at the time. The records will show that a plague ripped through the French countryside at the time, but any student of medieval warfare will know what comes next.

In those days, war took place slowly enough that total economic devastation was a necessary component of victory. This meant that in order to win, we had to slaughter the peasants. Being religious at the time, I sent up a prayer to God that the town would yield our enemies. I was told that we had made that our one demand, taking every chance to reiterate.  When fighting broke out, however, I did my duty as a good little templar and joined with the others in putting everyone to the sword.  And I do mean everyone.

That was December 15 of the year. Next year, on December 20, I held my first observance.

December has meant death and endings to me for a very long time. For example:

My mentor, the woman who taught me what it means to be a Hexer, died in battle in 1723.

My second wife died of the black death in 1565.

My fifth wife was murdered by outlaws in 1878.

Saren Arterius initiated the Geth crisis in 2181.

Now that I am retired, December still feels like an ending. But now, with my 6th wife, it feels like the end of an era. A chapter in my story that I can close.

 

I think I shall mark this day, December 18th .

 

The door opens behind me. There, filling its frame to bursting and then some, is my 6th wife. Lt. Commander Alexandria Shepard, retired. In one hand, she holds a turkey leg. In the other, a platter holding the turkey. I know which one is for me. I mean, I have no idea where she’d put an entire _turkey_ , but she will. Between her partial turning, cybernetic implants, and her metabolism, I might not finish first.

I wonder sometimes if we are “proper”, for lack of a better term. Even though she’s 8 feet tall and her halfling status gives her the speed she’d need to whip me, I was raised to believe that I should be the one taking care of her.

Then, as she plops herself down next to me, her gaze mirroring mine, I realize that our relationship couldn’t happen another way.

We are opposites in other ways as well. That she does the daily work is a function of her stamina. That I take care of the blacksmithing is a function of my skill. That she tears into the turkey without silverware is a function of the life she’s lived. That I wrap my turkey leg in a handkerchief is a function of mine. Most importantly, she enjoys good food and the outdoors. I enjoy small scale mechanical engineering and a good book.

“So,” she says, in between bites, “whatchu thinkin’ about?” I swallowed before speaking.

“December.” I take another bite. She gives me a look before returning her gaze to the horizon.

“Wha’ ‘bout it?” I swallow.

“Seems to me like everything dies.” Another look, this one longer. Then she bumps me with her elbow. Softly, so as not to disturb my turkey leg. “What?” Surely her pointed stare was a force powerful enough to pierce any armor. But the expectant look, coupled with the gaping silence did the work for her. “Historically, December has been the month where everyone I love dies, is murdered, falls ill, shit happens, you know, everything just… _dies_.” She paused her eating for a moment, then spoke up.

“So I guess you don’t like Christmas?” Like my 5th wife, Lexi has a deadpan sense of humor that she needed for surviving the frontier in 19 th century America. It wasn’t what I was expecting here, but I didn’t need to break the conversation because of it.

“Not usually, no. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever celebrated it.”

“So what’d you do for Christmas in 1914?” I blinked.

“The order didn’t participate.” Much as she likes to say otherwise, Lexi is very expressive. Case in point: I could see it in live action as her mood soured.

“You’re killing me here. So you mean to say that while everybody was giving gifts and having fun, you guys were still shooting bullets?” I shook my head of the idea.

“I mean that the order was never in world war 1.” We didn’t think it was our fight, and I love that her response was to _hmm_ at me once and leave it at that. No judgement, no “you should’ve tried to help” or “you’re an evil bastard for not doing anything.” She understands the… _severity_ of the emotional indoctrination I had helped to inflict upon myself during my tenure in the order, and helped me climb out of the hole. In turn, I help her every day by  keeping her head on straight whenever she can’t.

“Guess you’re a little old, then.” I snort. _Really, an age crack?_ “I’m not sick.” She adds. I give a pointed stare at the turkey, now completely gone.

“I can see that.” She jabs me in the ribs with her elbow.

“I’m not sick, and you’re having Christmas this year.” And that would be that.  Still, as we settled back into a comfortable silence, I had another realization.

This December is also an ending. But this domesticity developing between the two of us retired warriors, this... _domesticity_ is a beginning.

 

And it’s kind of nice.


End file.
